


The Gardener

by SherlockMalfoy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gardens & Gardening, Gen, Independent Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:01:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26511085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockMalfoy/pseuds/SherlockMalfoy
Summary: "You ever just wake up one day," Harry said in the most conversational tone his Aunt Petunia had ever heard come out of that mouth of his. "And say to yourself," he continued as he looked up from the flowerbed he was weeding for her. "Why the hell should I even bother?"And Petunia frowned at him. "Now you see here boy-" she started but he interrupted her."I mean, what's the point of it all?"
Relationships: Harry Potter & Severus Snape, Petunia Evans Dursley & Harry Potter
Comments: 16
Kudos: 362





	The Gardener

"You ever just wake up one day," Harry said in the most conversational tone his Aunt Petunia had ever heard come out of that mouth of his. "And say to yourself," he continued as he looked up from the flowerbed he was weeding for her. "Why the hell should I even bother?"

And Petunia frowned at him. "Now you see here boy-" she started but he interrupted her.

"I mean, what's the point of it all?" And he went back to his weeding as if she hadn't said a thing. "You guys lie to me all my life telling me my parents were drunks and died in a car crash. Then some big hulking man shows up when I'm eleven and says I'm a wizard and my parents were actually murdered – I actually do appreciate your lie about the car crash now, aunt Petunia," Harry said as he rooted through the dirt and wrapped his hands around a bunch of grass, yanking it right out of his aunt's prized begonias. "And then I find out the guy that murdered them has possessed my teacher all year. And then I kill the guy by just, I don't know, bumping him with my hand. Don't even ask me how that works because no one has been able to give me a straight answer. And that's another thing..."

Petunia Dursley found that while angry, Harry pulled more weeds out of her flower beds than he ever had when he'd been forced to do the task. And she also got to hear a lot more than she and Vernon had been told in the letters she received just before the start of every summer. Not that she'd told him they had been receiving letters, by normal Royal Mail thank you very much, from one of his teachers at the school.

Not that she liked the man or anything but... Well...

It was a complicated situation and she'd rather leave it at that.

"-And then..." Harry is still ranting hours later when he's digging up a new section of the back garden to prep it for some gardening project he'd offered to do up for her. Or rather, he hadn't complained when she'd admired the photograph in the magazine, nor when she'd brought it up to Vernon a week later and she'd suggested that perhaps The Boy – because her nephew was always just The Boy in their household – could use some hard labour to keep him out of causing trouble with his freakish ways.

Regardless, he had even gone in to refill her lemonade, and bring her a light snack after he'd finished one gardening task before moving onto the next.

"Would you believe the nerve of these people to spend the entire summer when they know I can't very well defend myself against it, slandering me after I'd just risked my neck in some stupid tournament I shouldn't have been in from the start! I get to school and once again," Harry complained, setting his shovel aside and grabbing the hoe to break up a particularly stubborn clump of grass and dirt. "Well, I get back to school and people are looking at me like I'm crazy. The same way that you and Uncle Vernon look at me when you think I'm going to do something m.... freaky," he self corrected, knowing the Dursley reaction to the dreaded M word.

"One boy even had the nerve to claim I killed Cedric myself. How fucking absurd is that?! I was only 14, well, 15 now. I couldn't do that! The one time I did, it wasn't even my fault and I still have nightmares about just going to touch someone and they burst into flames or turn to ash. I mean, I know my sort of people are strange and unusual, but even among THEM I'm like some kind of... of...."

"Weather vane," Petunia found herself supplying. "The term you're looking for, Boy, is weather vane."

"Or a bloody lightning rod," he said, chucking a clump of grass into a bucket, and then some rocks into another to be dealt with later. "I never asked for any of this. I never wanted to be different. I just wanted... Hell I've been ordered around my whole life I don't even know WHAT I want. And I've always pretty much known I won't live to be an adult anyway so... so what's the point of it all really if it's just wasted on me, you know?"

And after that, he said not another word about it.

It was as if... as if once the dam had broken there was no way to stop it. And once the lake was drained. That was it.

When he'd finished his work, unable to do much more until Vernon brought home the bricks and cement the Boy would need to continue working on her garden project, he went to the spigot at the back of the house and the watering hose neatly hanging from a thick metal hook on the outside wall. He was about to turn on the water and reach for the hose when she said to him, "Go inside, Boy, and take a proper shower. You have... twenty minutes. Then come down to the kitchen."

"Yes aunt Petunia," Harry said with a slight frown before going inside. He had expected to be reprimanded for talking at his aunt all day and into the late afternoon. He'd planned to just clean himself off enough to get dinner started before running upstairs for a quick rinse to get the sweat off and then come back down to finish dinner.

His aunt rarely, if ever, cooked. Not that she couldn't. After all, he had to learn from someone. But... she just didn't enjoy it unless it was for a special occasion.

By the time he was downstairs again a sandwich, some crisps, and a glass of apple juice were on the table where he was usually to sit – when he was allowed to join them that is. Petunia was stood at the counter looking at her cookbook. One of the books she'd bought when Dudley had been placed on his diet and so the rest of them were on it as well.

Harry sat and ate quietly, sipping his juice and savouring it because he didn't know when he might get more of it the rest of the summer.

"When your mother and I were children," Petunia began, not looking at him as she gathered ingredients and set them next to her cutting board. "She enjoyed gardening. Even before she started to show signs of being... freakish," she said. "Your mother loved to spend hours in father's garden with him. I'm not fond of it myself, as you have likely learned over the years. But... you remind me of her when you work outside. When she was angry she often went outside to re-pot plants. Especially when father wasn't doing well. Mother hated that garden, but she indulged my sister because it gave her something to do. Lily... had a temper when she didn't get her way. When father started encouraging her interests in growing things rather than breaking them, it was a godsend. The angrier she was when she started, the bigger and more beautiful the plants she'd cared for."

"I... I never knew," Harry said quietly, glancing towards the back door where he could see the freshly weeded patch of begonias through the glass.

"Well," Petunia said stiffly. "Now you do. Your mother had a life outside that... unpleasantness. And a skill to fall back on should the... freakishness not work out for her."

There was no repeat of Harry's venting.

There were no more stories about his mother from his aunt Petunia.

But he did find after the weekend when she and Vernon had gone out to buy the rest of what he would need to build what she wanted in the back garden, a new set of gardening gloves, a few new flower pots and soil along with an assortment of seeds for him to work with.

When he had gone into the kitchen to make dinner the next night, he made sure to make one of the healthy desserts Petunia favoured to go with their Sunday dinner as a way to say thank you for the gloves and flower pots.

When he'd finished building the raised beds, but before he had filled them with the dirt and the extra potting soil Vernon had bought at his aunt's insistence, Petunia gave him a window box for his bedroom.

He didn't get a lot of natural light in there, but it was the thought that counted at least. She had admitted to him that she wasn't actually all that interested in gardening herself, so he accepted the gift for what it was. Her way of trying to... help him he supposed. He always did have a temper. Aunt Marge still didn't want to be left alone in a room with him after that ordeal the summer before third year. She didn't remember what happened to her, of course. But it didn't stop her from feeling... uneasy when he was around.

The day before Harry's birthday he had come inside and was told to go upstairs to take a proper shower and then come back down to the kitchen.

He did so then came down to find a sandwich, juice, and crisps waiting for him at his place at the table. That at least had been a more regular occurrence. When he did heavy labour in the back garden, his aunt always had something for him to eat and drink before dinner, as he often skipped lunch. Dudley had seen it once, and complained about it, and his mother actually told him if he wanted some he'd best get outside and help The Boy with his outside chores.

Dudley hadn't complained again after that.

Harry ate quietly as his aunt sat to his left with a magazine, sipping tea in a comfortable silence. Once he was finished he washed his plate and glass, leaving them to dry in the rack by the sink before moving to wipe up his spot at the table. All the while, his aunt Petunia watched him from the corner of her eye.

"Come sit down," she said. "There is a matter I feel I must discuss with you before your cousin and uncle return home."

"Yes Aunt Petunia," Harry said, sliding back into his seat.

Petunia set down her cup, closed her magazine, and stood. He sat there, listening to her footsteps as she walked around the house, then upstairs. In his head he was tracing the familiar path down the hallway, past Dudley's room but before his own, and then the pause at his aunt and uncle's bedroom door. With a frown, he realized she was taking longer than he thought she should have if she was just going to her bedroom.

When she returned, she had a common manilla folder in her hand and set it on the table before sitting down again to Harry's left.

She opened the folder and Harry watched curiously.

"This," she said, picking up a piece of parchment. "Was with you when I found you on the doorstep."

She gave him a moment to read the paper she placed in front of him.

"And this arrived a month later on December 1st."

This, too, she laid in front of him. He recognized the handwriting easily enough. It was the same as the first. The same he'd seen off and on throughout the last five years of his life. As if the name at the bottom of the second one wasn't a dead giveaway.

He read through it again. And again. And each time he grew angrier.

"Is this... Is this why you never call me by my name?"

"Yes."

"Why are you telling me this now? It doesn't make any difference-"

"Because of this," she said, leafing through the papers in the folder before finding one he had not expected. It had the Ministry of Magic official seal on it. He read the date. Again and again. "This arrived shortly before a letter from one of your professors did, informing me of what had taken place at your school that year."

Harry looked at the paper again and read the date. He pushed it forward and put his head down, burying his face in his arms and trying not to let her see how... how angry he was. How hard it was really hitting him.

She nearly regretted her decision. Nearly.

His... His rant at her earlier in the summer had reminded her so very much of Lily at that age. True, Petunia had never liked that horrid, awkward Snape boy from the more... run down part of the neighbourhood, but her sister had been so angry that summer after she had completed 5 years at that wretched school. She had been so frustrated that he would not listen to reason. Worried for him, even after he had called her such an offensive slur – oh Petunia knew exactly what he'd called her and had she not been on her honeymoon at the time she'd heard about it she would have driven herself back to Cokeworth to give that boy a piece of her mind!... And perhaps a nice little mark on his face with her nails to remember her by.

But... Listening to him recount all of the horrors he had faced as if such things were not the stuff of nightmares... and knowing it was the same insanity that stole her sister from the world, it had given her cause to reconsider things with her nephew. Her relationship with him now was too little too late, she knew that. However... there was still at least one thing she could do for him. She could get him out of it before things got worse.

Harry lifted his head, green eyes rimmed in red as he wiped his nose on his sleeve.

"There's more," Petunia said. "I'll leave them with you to read over. You are to take my key to the cupboard under the stairs and gather your things. Take them to your room and go through them with what you would like to keep and what you wish to leave behind you."

"Are you kicking me out?"

"Never, Harry," she said. "Tomorrow, on your birthday, arrangements have been made to retrieve you. I assume after reading those letters, you will not want to be here when that happens."

"I already don't. I never wanted to come back here after I left the first time."

Petunia nodded, having already known and accepted this a long time ago. "Go on now. After you've washed the dishes tonight, wait in your room until I come for you."

The more Harry read of the letters in the folder, the more he realized he'd been wrong about a great many things.

First, he still couldn't stand Professor Snape. But... to read in the man's own handwriting that he was actually a rather capable student, if he enjoyed the subject that is, was not what he had expected to learn from his aunt's letters. There were five from him in all. Each telling a rough approximation of what Harry had done or gotten into that year. The last one, dated before the end of the school term, but after Sirius had died, had already given a date for when Harry would be picked up that year. And who would be doing so.

Harry read through no less than three documents from the Ministry of Magic with the official seal and everything. One had been a notification of Harry Potter's entry into the Tri-Wizard Tournament, which according to the paper, it had been automatically generated and sent out to his legal guardians since he was still in his minority and the Heir of a pureblood house. It detailed the process for having himself withdrawn, and gave the specific clauses under which his guardians may appeal and object under before a specific date. Failure to do so would result in Harry's continued participation.

The second was dated, Harry noted, the day of the third task. The night Cedric was murdered in front of his eyes.

He had survived the tri-wizard tournament. He had also won the tournament.

These, according to the documentation, were grounds for his Emancipation. And it was granted.

The document had been auto-generated as well, and stamped with the approval of the Vital Statistics and Records department. Harry James Potter was no longer even supposed to still be in the care of the Dursleys.

The last one with the Ministry Seal upon it was an official summons for the day after his birthday. Again, he read the name Vital Statistics and Records on this paper. Why, he had no clue. But...

He moved back to the two letters from Albus Dumbledore mixed in with the lot.

And he felt his anger, his rage bleeding back through. He was left on a doorstep, with a bloody NOTE.

And the bastard had the audacity to write to his aunt and uncle informing them "not to get attached to The Boy". Many of the accusations that had been levied at him over the years were mirrored in the parchment in his hands. This letter... this stupid letter... had it never been sent to them, warning them that when he started to show signs of magic it was to be stamped out as harshly as possible. That he was a danger to everyone around him. Keep him busy. Keep him hidden and away from people. Don't get attached – it'll hurt them less WHEN – not IF – he acted out.

Harry wanted to kill the man.

When he finished, he started sorting through his belongings. Everything that was useful, he set to one side. Everything that wasn't... went into a pile on his bed. The trunk was emptied, and all of the junk he was leaving had been shoved back inside. If he was leaving, he couldn't lug that hulking thing around any longer. It would slow him down.

When Petunia came to his room after dark, she had what looked like an average canvas muggle messenger bag. "This belonged to your mother. I... I don't understand how it works, but she had left it at our parents home the last time I saw her. It holds quite a lot more than it looks like it should." She offered this to Harry. "I thought you might like this in place of that cumbersome trunk of yours." She watched quietly as he accepted it, smiling weakly as he quickly turned away to hide his face from her. He began to pack his things into it, shoving his Marauder's Map, the folder with the letters, and at least the decent text books he still had. He was about to close the flap when he changed his mind about something and went for the window box planter. The mouth of the bag was just wide enough he might be able to shove it in lengthwise, as long as he was careful. Harry was thankful he hadn't actually tried to use it yet. Once the planter was in, he closed the flap and fastened the buckle.

"You will need to hide until the day after tomorrow. One of those official looking papers said something about a meeting on August 1st."

"Yeah... Yeah, I've got that covered. I know a way to get around without anyone knowing. I just need to escape the minders here on Privet Drive first."

"I have that covered," she said. "I believe the current one should be leaving in just a few moments. According to your teacher, you should have ten minutes unsupervised. That should be long enough for you to slip away unnoticed."

Harry pulled the strap up and over his head so the strap would cross his chest. It was lighter weight than he had expected, but then again if it had been his mother's bag in school she likely did something to it so carrying her books would be easier. He picked up the only two items he did not pack into the bag. The wand he kept in his hand, just in case. The cloak, he draped over his arm for now.

When he was ready to go, he followed his aunt downstairs to the back door. "Try not yo use too much of the... the magic to be noticed."

"Thank you, Aunt Petunia," Harry said then, unexpectedly for both of them, he hugged her before taking his cloak and pulling it on. He let his head stay visible a moment longer. "Really. I-"

"Go. You've only got a few moments before they come back," she said when she noticed a slight wind on an otherwise calm night in her back garden. Harry opened the door and was about to step out, when she said, "I hope you have a good life, Harry," she said. "Don't let them get you killed, too."

He nodded, pulling the cloak up to hide his face as he stepped outside, the door closing behind him.

The last Petunia Dursley ever saw of Harry Potter wouldn't be the sneaker that slipped out from under the cloak as he climbed the fence in the back garden. It would be Harry sitting at the table, eating a sandwich and crisps while sipping apple juice.

When her back door opened again, the man that came in was the last person she ever wanted to see again. His letters had been... pleasant enough. And she'd have liked to keep it that way, thank you very much.

She set about making herself a cup of tea, and plucked a cookbook from the collection on the kitchen shelf. She turned it to her favourite dessert in the book, and began taking out various items she knew would be needed for it. Severus watched as she half-prepared the recipe in the book before sitting down at the table, picking up the bottle and uncorking it. "I've never liked these wretched things."

"Just drink it you bloody harpy," he said.

"Slimy, unwashed hooligan," she replied, putting the bottle to her lips and tilting her head back quickly to down it in one go.

He took it from her as she picked up her tea to take a few sips, if only to remove the taste in her mouth.

Severus moved out of her sight, slipping around behind her to weave the spell that would remove the memory of helping their charge escape. He hadn't wanted to help her, but... as she had rightly pointed out, he had gotten the boy's mother killed. Her sister. It was his fault, partially, and he was to help her try and fix it.

Petunia Dursley would wake the next morning at her kitchen table, covered in flour with milk left out to spoil and quite the mess to clean up.

She would discover, as would Albus Dumbledore later that evening, that Harry Potter was missing from Privet Drive.

She wouldn't remember a damn thing about helping him leave, but she did remember that day in the garden when he had just... unburdened himself so very much like his mother used to do as she worked in their father's garden. And she couldn't blame him for running away like a thief in the night. Not if that was the kind of life he had when he was away all year at that freaky, unnatural school of his.

Much changed quickly in the next two years for many people.

Not much of it for the better.

Harry's uncle Vernon received a promotion that came with a new house and all of his moving expenses paid... provided he was willing to move himself and his family to British Columbia, Canada, where Grunnings was expanding into a new market. Vernon had, apparently, been hand picked by the Vice President of the company to lead the opening and later run this new Canadian branch of Grunnings Drills.

Given how greedy the man was, the rather substantial raise in pay was more than enough to convince the man to accept the job. Petunia was less than thrilled about it until she saw her new home. The new home that she knew had to have been custom built, as every minute detail was exactly as she had always dreamed it. Upon arrival inside the home was furnished with exactly the style she preferred. Right down to the pattern of the tablecloth on the dining table.

Petunia knew, then, she'd never see her nephew again. She didn't know what had happened to him after he ran away. She didn't even remember helping him run away and the freaks that hounded them after his disappearance. They simply wouldn't take the truth as an answer. Here she knew they were far away from all that nonsense. Somehow, wherever The Boy was, he had made arrangements for the people that had raised him. Vernon certainly had never paid attention to the magazines she read and left laying about. And Dudley was in no position to do much more than eat, sleep, shower, and attend school.

Three months after they had settled into their new home, Vernon received a letter from his sister who, inexplicably, had come into some money and property in America. Much larger than her home in England. She was strongly considering selling it off. But Petunia convinced Vernon that her moving to America would be far better for her dogs. Especially because of all the dog pageants and opportunities for breeders there. It was only after he had received a reply stating that Marge had reconsidered the idea that the knot in Petunia's gut eased up.

She couldn't explain why, but she thought it might have had something to do with The Boy again. Heaven knew Marge had never been kind to him. Neither had they, and yet, she still lay awake at night sometimes wondering why he was doing whatever it was he had chosen to do. There must be a reason, certainly.

The Grangers loved their daughter.

They loved their daughter very much.

So much so that they had considered removing her from that insane boarding school they had sent her to after her friend Harry Potter's disappearance.

For some reason, however, they never got around to it. Not until their daughter came to them a year after her friend's disappearance with a letter she had received that morning.

"I.... I just received an invitation from a school I never knew existed," she said, hands shaking slightly as she handed it to her father. "It says I've been accepted to a Mastery school."

"What's a Mastery school?"

"It's like a magical university."

Her father read the letter, his eyebrows raising in surprise. "Mirkwood?" her mother asked as she peered over his shoulder. "That's one of the forests from Lord of the Rings, isn't it?"

"A...apparently, it's a very real place and they want me to attend even though I haven't taken my NEWTs yet. They... They said it's-"

"You've been recommended personally by a member of the Magical Confederation of Oceana to receive one of five scholarships for their Accelerated Studies Program."

"What should I do?! I've got Hogwarts this fall and-"

Her mother left the room a moment, then returned with a pen and paper. "You write back and you tell them you'll accept."

"I can't just abandon my friends... not now."

Hermione's father set the paper aside and levelled his daughter with a most serious look on his face. "Hermione, that school is going to get you killed. Someone upstairs has smiled on you and given you this opportunity. We've listened to you for the last six years about that world of yours. How dangerous it's gotten for people like you. Like us. We want you to be safe sweetheart."

"But-"

"You said your friend Harry ran away," her mother said, offering her the paper and the pen. "No one believed you when you said this... this wicked man couldn't have kidnapped him from his family. We listened, even though we couldn't do anything about it. Someone, somewhere, heard about how special you are. How brilliant you are. I have no doubt your friend is the one that told them about you. You write that letter. Let your father and I take care of the rest."

Hermione took all night agonizing over what to do.

By morning, she had written her response and gave it to her mother to drop in the post on her way to work.

Hermione Granger never made it to the Hogwarts Express on September 1st for her seventh and final year at Hogwarts. Not that she would have been allowed to attend anyway. As a muggleborn, the new ministry of magic had decreed obliviation of muggleborns and their families was too kind. Death for the mudbloods was the rule of the day.

The Granger family had already settled into their new home in Sydney, Australia before the Ministry fell to Voldemort and his Death Eaters and Hermione had begun her studies at the Mirkwood Mastery School of Sorcery where she learned Harry had indeed spoken on her behalf. Not only that, he had provided with his application for her a set of memories showing her dedication to education and learning. Memories of her successfully brewing Polyjuice potion as a second year Hogwarts student. Memories of spells she performed during the DA meetings. Everything he provided showed her competence with magic and spellwork most adults have difficulty with.

These were accepted in place of NEWTs, provided she kept her grades above a certain level and maintained the required workload throughout the Accelerated Studies Program.

Luna Lovegood and her father had appeared in Longbottom Manor's gardens on July 30th, 1997 with a suitcase each.

Shortly after Neville Longbottom had disappeared.

It was his birthday, and he was 17 now. He could do whatever he damn well liked without his grandmother interfering.

The following day, the Ministry of Magic of Magical Britain fell to the Dark Lord and his forces.

As for the Lovegoods and Neville Longbottom?

Why, they were enjoying the comfort of a hotel in Brazil, waiting for a very important appointment to decide their futures.

When the man arrived he had a box wrapped in red and gold paper in his hands. This was handed to Neville Longbottom while two envelopes were handed to the girl with him.

Neville unwrapped his present and found an odd sort of gift. The box called it a Chia-Pet. The picture was of a terracotta toad. "What is it?"

"My client said it was very popular among the no-maj and that you would enjoy experimenting with it." The man nodded to the letters in the girl's hands. "These are your acceptance letters to Castelobruxo's exchange program. Based on what my client has told me of you both, I have taken the liberty of selecting specialized classes for each of you."

"What?"

"Mr. Longbottom is enrolled in the Agriculture Specialization Track," he said, continuing on. "While Miss Lovegood is dual enrolled in the Journalism and Magizoology programs. If you decide to change these, feel free to speak to the school administrators at any time."

"When you speak to Mr. Potter again," Xenophilius, Luna's father said, "Please tell him thank you for us."

"I certainly will, Mr. Lovegood. Once you have settled in and resumed publication of your fine newspaper, I will be sending you the information and payment for three new subscriptions."

Very few people in the 2 years after Harry Potter's disappearance were as lucky as the Dursleys, Grangers, Lovegoods, and Mr. Longbottom.

When a pair of twins visited Gringotts to set up their business and buy a store front on Diagon Alley, they were advised by their new account manager that it would be very wise for them to seek their fortunes elsewhere. And soon.

Only 3 other Weasleys received such a warning from the Goblins. One was employed and transferred quickly to China. Another was advised that he should follow, as there was a particularly large dragon reserve in Mexico that was always needing experienced handlers.

The last was simply told when he went to withdraw money that "You've the Weasley hair, boy. When the Ministry falls, you'll be one of the first killed. Empty your vault, go home, pack your things, and leave before the end of the month."

Percy and his fiance wasted absolutely no time doing just that.

The last anyone had heard, the Clearwaters had resettled in Portugal where Percy, who'd dropped the Weasley name like a hot potato, now worked with Penelope's father in the shipping business. And he was very good and efficient at keeping the books and ensuring everyone followed proper safety regulations.

The Ministry fell to the Dark Lord's control on July 31st, 1997.

The goblin rebellion began on August 3rd that same year. It would have begun on August 1st, but they spent the additional days seizing the vaults of their enemies and consolidating the wealth therein.

What had caused the rebellion?

News from abroad claiming there was an object of evil in their walls.

The cursed cup of Helga Hufflepuff was destroyed with prejudice at the advice of the Dwarves of Greenland. A list of additional items had been given to the goblins in return for releasing the Potter and Black accounts into their hands after the disappearance of Harry James Potter.

On the list were three additional items, identified by the Dwarves after they had removed a curse most foul from their most lucrative client.

A snake. A diadem. And a locket.

Included with the item list was a self-updating map of their locations.

The muggles of the United Kingdom learned about magic Christmas Day in the year 2000. When, live on television, men and woman in masks – cultists – had appeared and killed the queen. A hideous monster-like man sat down in her place and addressed the nation.

His name was Lord Voldemort. And magic was real.

This news would never make it out of the United Kingdom.

Cultists. Terrorists.

That was the official story.

The muggles outside the UK actually believed it.

The ICW quarantined the UK – both muggle and magical.

Eventually... well... the muggle population was wiped out. Muggleborns smuggled out of the country until they were either all dead or there were no more muggles to birth them.

The international political stage changed as, eventually, the UN was forced to make a decision they never had wanted to face before. One they had never thought possible... until now.

"Let him have the British Isles," the UK representative had said before resigning his position. "Seal it off. Nothing in. Nothing out."

On the night of October 31st, 2004, the Emperor of the Magical Empire of Britannia went to sleep safe in the knowledge that the goblin rebellion had been squashed. The muggles of his kingdom slaughtered. And all opposition now silenced with the death of the last stubborn Weasley, still clinging to the so-called Light in the hopes that her precious Potter would eventually return to her.

Tomorrow... Tomorrow he would set his sights on the continent.

On the morning of November 1st, it was discovered that all world maps showed only the UK. All globes... only the UK. It was as if the rest of the world had been removed somehow from them and replaced with an endless expanse of ocean.

Severus Snape had been one of the lucky ones.

For his part in the quarantine of Magical Britain, he was a guest of the ICW's medium security penal system for ten years.

Now that he was free, but his magic bound, he knew not what to do with himself. Without his magic, he could not brew potions. He was a potions master. It's what he did. It's what he knew.

And yet...

He stared down at the letter the solicitor had given him when he was released. He recognized the chicken scratch easily. The letter had been sent via muggle post, he noted. With a P.O. Box address in America. But that couldn't be trusted. It was well known by the time the UK muggles were all killed that Potter was still alive, somewhere. No one knew where, and those who might know were far too well hidden themselves. From what Severus had been able to discover, he banked with the Dwarves of Greenland. He was an honorary member of the Magical Confederation of Oceana. He sat on the board of governors of Castelobuxo in Brazil. He owned significant shares of a muggle drill company that was now headquartered in British Columbia, Canada. He donated funds to numerous no kill animal shelters in America and funded organizations dedicated to the care and welfare of children in Australia, China, and more that helped supply muggle medicines to third world countries in Africa.

But where Potter himself was?... Well...

That was simple enough for him to figure out.

Getting there... however... That was going to be a challenge without his magic.

"You know," the man said, scooping fresh soil into the window box on the table in front of him. There was a flat of petunias in varying shades and colours on a metal muggle cart beside the table, and two glasses of lemonade sitting out. One within reach of the green eyed man with the old, well worn gardening gloves, the other in front of another chair at his table. "You're the only one to find me."

Severus Snape was most grateful he didn't need to blend in with the magical world any longer. The robes would be stifling in such heat. Though the garden in which he found himself today was much cooler than outside the fence that surrounded it.

"Do your friends not know where you live?"

"Hermione's come the closest," he said. "She thought I might be in the Bermuda Triangle."

"You certainly are near enough to it," Severus replied as Harry smiled, looking up from his work to see his former professor, more gray in his hair than he'd ever expected. Prison wasn't kind to him, but at least he was alive. It was the least Harry could do. After all... in his own way he'd cared, even a little, enough to let Petunia know what was happening to him at Hogwarts.

Harry had plenty of time to think in his years hidden away with his gardens. "Sit. You must be rather tired from the trip. I've had my elf do up the spare room for you."

It had been a rather long walk from the docks. And the very long boat trip hadn't been pleasant at all. Not with the storms at sea this time of year causing some unfortunate delay. "How did you know I was coming?" Severus asked once he had sat down and gotten off his tired, old feet.

Harry shrugged and took off his gloves, laying them beside the planter before he picked up his glass of lemonade. "I didn't. But Dobby's been told to keep an eye on things for me. The moment he feels the wards on the island tripped he checks who it is. If they're magical, he follows them for a bit. His standing orders are that if they're friendly, do up the spare room." He sipped his drink and sat back in his chair comfortably. "And if they're not... well... As I said, you're the first to make it this far. What happens to anyone else?... I don't know. I don't want to know. But I reckon it's rather gruesome since Kreacher seems to be in a good mood from time to time."

"Where," Severus asked as Harry admired his garden and sipped his lemonade. "Where did you learn of this island?"

"The Ministry, actually," he said. "The day after my birthday, back in... Oh, 1996. When Sirius went through the Veil they sent out a letter to me, but I didn't receive it until Aunt Petunia gave me the folder with all of your letters included. And the two from Dumbledore. And the paperwork declaring me emancipated after surviving that damn tournament." He laughed a little. "Turns out the old man did me a favour by having all of my important mail diverted to my aunt and uncle. Muggles didn't know how to contact the ministry and couldn't object to my participation as a minor. Had they done so, I'd have been disqualified. By not only surviving but winning the damn thing, I was considered a fully qualified wizard and legally there was nothing anyone could do about it."

They talked for some time longer before Dobby appeared, informing Harry that dinner would be ready shortly and Little Miss was due home any moment.

"Little Miss?"

"Rosie," Harry said as he stood. Severus followed suit. "I took her in when her father abandoned her for having magic."

"That's horrid."

"Well, Dudley always was a magic hating bastard. Not surprised since the first time he actually saw it and knew what it was, Hagrid gave him a damn pig tail," he said. "Why don't you go on upstairs and settle in. Dobby will set a plate aside for you if you'd rather take the time to rest."

Severus Snape spent two weeks with Harry Potter and his adopted daughter, Rosie. Rosie, who attended school across the island. An island that was very much a mixed population of muggles and magicals. Snape told Harry his part, small as it was, in his aunt's plan to help him run away. It was simple, really. Ensure he was the back garden guard for that night. Conveniently arrive ten minutes late and provide her with a potion to render her unconscious while he erased her memory of all knowledge in regards to the plan she had come up with.

"But why?" Harry had asked him as Snape sat under an umbrella near where Harry worked on re-potting some plants for a neighbour of his. "That's the one thing I've never been able to figure out after all these years. I get why they treated me the way that they did. Dumbledore made it clear they were just to give me a place to sleep and not get too attached. He figured I'd die soon enough. But... Why the letters to Petunia? Why would either of you help me run away?"

"The last thing Petunia Dursley ever said to your mother was that she blamed Lily for their parents deaths and that she hoped the freakish madman did actually find her and kill her. If only so she wouldn't have to worry about the freaks finding her and her family, too."

Harry dropped the clay planter he'd been about to carry over to his metal cart. "What?" he asked in surprise, uncaring that it had shattered at his feet.

"Her guilt, Potter. Every time she looked at you, she'd said in her last letter to me, she was reminded of that fight with Lily. The last time she ever saw her sister alive and she was so angry. She blamed herself for your mother's death."

"I think I... I think I need a drink... Dobby, will you pop down to the general store and get me a bottle of... whatever they've got in stock?"

A bottle of vodka appeared on the table with two tumblers.

"And a sobering potion for your master as well. I suspect he doesn't wish for his daughter to see him in such a state when she comes home."

A vial appeared on the table next to the bottle of vodka.

**Author's Note:**

> So Harry's hidden island?
> 
> It's easy to miss on a map. After all, Swallow Falls is tucked away just beneath the A in Atlantic on all the maps.


End file.
